All Hail the King
by YiddleDee15243
Summary: The King knows, and he plans to exploit it. And Valka, who had so much to give up, had to make a choice, but it all had to go wrong. A one-shot. Includes modified family tree and intense stage battles. Requires foreshadowing abilities. Rated T (or M) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.


**AN: So, this one-shot was just a hypothetical, extremely plot-twisting guess at the events the prelude to the first How To Train Your Dragon and lead to the second How to Train You Dragon movie, possibly even the third. Sure, there were quite a lot of differences, but otherwise, this was my imagining. I admit, I got carried away, playing with the Haddock family tree and such, but it does make up for a really interesting idea. This is really cryptic, and there are tons of hints placed here and there, so you could figure out how all these characters relate to each other. Confusing at first, but it should be solvable.**

**I've gone with the name Valka because it's the name in the movie adaptation. And HTTYD 2 is coming, so...**

* * *

**All Hail The King**

* * *

The night's cricketing and the popping of nearby burning cordwood filled the tranquil night. The backdrops of splashing waves and occasionally hooting of owls bathed the sky with a heavenly sense of relief. The torch-lit pillars that ran alongside a dirt path flickered with its warm light against the dirt-tainted skin of a lone mother.

The woman, draped in a mix between festive clothing and a weird, reddish scaled-like armor, adorned with fur varnishing and spiked arm-handles, stomped angrily out of the household that stood majestically in might of the rest of the town. Around her neck hung a golden necklace; circle in shape and, imprinted on it, a fierce dragon. The lady herself was rather thin, compared to the rest of the residents, and wore brown-reddish hair which flowed with the wind that swept around her.

"Valka!" a desperate voice yelled from inside the dwelling.

She twirled around after a short moment's impetus, kicking her heels with a sense of flare, and confronted the man following her.

"I am not leaving!" Valka replied, shoving a finger directly in front of the man's face.

The man was broad and towering; his rangy, tremendous size forced the woman's height to his mere shoulders. His chin was draped in a grand beard that was painted with an orange-like tint. He wore a helmet with two great horns protruding up and outwards from its sides, and a rather short cape trailed behind him like wings.

He stopped abruptly at the woman's daring strife.

"Valka, they know! They're waiting by the docks! They'll-"

"They'll do what, Stoick? What? Kill me?"

She gave the man an unwavering glare, her brown eyes were slightly tearing at the sight of his desperate lover.

"Maybe," Stoick muttered with shivering lips, "They have called for your arrest. The King is here himself, traveled all the way from home."

Silence fell between the two as Valka took her time to indulge all that the man said. Tears began to bleed from her eyes as Stoick began worrying for the others' reaction.

"Alvin won't be happy with this-" he started.

"He can handle it," Valka replied hastily.

Stoick tilted his head forward, knowing that what she said was all doubtful.

"He'll grow mad," Stoick reminded.

"Then handle him! You're the Chief, he'll obey you," she assured.

Valka turned around once again and resumed her way downhill, towards the piers. Stoick pursued.

"How about Eret-?" Stoick inquired, flailing his hands in the air for an answer.

"The boy is still young, he'll come to understand," Valka replied harshly, refusing to turn her head.

"And Hiccup?"

Valka came to a sudden stop at Stoick's words, and she forced a gentle chuckle, grinning delightfully at the name.

"You know he'll miss you," Stoick continued, "He's barely seen your face."

"Oh, the boy..." the mother muttered, nodding softly in utter disappointment.

"He's your son, Valka, what of him?"

Valka tilted her to face the stars, not knowing the future of his son. It all remained an uncertainty to both of them, and she slowly turned back to face Stoick.

"Tell him _nothing. _Tell him his mother died fighting in the tribal wars-" she started, gradually facing away from her husband.

"Valka.." the husband called.

"-and keep him away from ever finding the truth-" she continued ignorantly.

"Valka.." he repeated.

She darted back at Stoick with a callous glare.

"What?"

"Why these lies?" Stoick dared question.

"To keep Hiccup safe!" Valka yelled, the silent night having been disrupted by the echoing of her voice.

"What do you mean?" Stoick rotated his head in a slight increment and raised his eyebrows with worry, approaching her steadily. Then he stopped, his eyes opening in realization.

"You're...you're running. Leaving...you lied after all."

Valka scoffed his Stoick's obliviousness and proceeded to explain, answering Stoick with a calm, heartening voice.

"How long did you think I can keep this up – _we _can keep this up?"

"No-"

"It was _inevitable. _They were going to find out _eventually_," she continued.

Stoick abruptly grasped onto Valka' shoulders and shook her vigorously, looking for an answer to his questions as he spoke.

"No! You- you listen! You take the King's offer; you _go _with him! Go back to the mainland, with that maniacal son-of-a-bitch, do as he says-" he begged.

"Stoick," Valka tried.

"-and we'll find a way to get you back. I promise, I promise this will work. It's _has _to work."

"And the king will just send an army after you! Knowing that you've plotted against him!" Valka argued, rendering Stoick's plea useless.

"_No, he, won't,_" the Chief pressed, "You know Gobber. He's a godsdamn mastermind."

Valka dropped her head, knowing that Stoick was right about the ingenious master-smith. She had no way to argue against the man's point.

"Will you do that?" Stoick begged with dying eyes.

"I- I'll see to it," she whispered lightly, "Just act like you don't know about it. He won't harm you."

"You'll know I'll have to kill dragons," Stoick warned.

Valka smiled promptly, nodding with tolerance.

"Well, this is the only time it's acceptable," she excused.

Their conversation paused as they stared into each other's eyes in the midst of the reticent gloom that draped both of them in a sort of suppressed, sleepy adrenaline. Both of them glimmered with reflected, watery eyes, before embracing each other dearly with an unbreakable grasp.

"You stubborn witch," Stoick sobbed.

"Watch your mouth, you brainless idiot," Valka murmured.

They freed themselves from one another, Stoick gently rubbing his thumb against the woman's face, cleaning the rivers of salty water that ran down her cheek and off her chin.

Valka retreated dutifully, away from Stoick, renewing her stance, sniffing seriousness back into her presence. Stoick did the same, who stood about uneasily. Their affections for each other gave them a peculiar appearance – one that does not manifest in the leaders of both men and women alike.

They both had responsibilities and they were entitled to it.

He held his arms to his eyes, wiping the tears free from his face, waiting for his beloved to turn her back on him and recommence hiking.

The woman gracefully swirled to face directly behind her, and mounted jaunting towards her meeting with the king.

Stoick watched hopelessly as his lover charged downwards from the hill their blissful, humble home sat on, listening to the distant-growing scraping of dirt beneath her feet.

There was a sweet jingle amongst his clothing as he moved about, and his hands instantly searched his body for the source of the sound. He reached inside his vest and pulled out a familiar piece of jewelry that usually appeared hanging from the neck of his love – the golden, dragon imprinted necklace. He held it firmly in his hands, turning his open palm into a knuckle, and guarded it devotedly.

"You daughter of a thief..." he cursed.

* * *

The guards generously opened the tent for the visitor, who attempted to keep her head up to match with the other King's men's height.

The dimly lit pavilion was held up by four wooden poles that stood at the four "corners" of the canvas. In the middle of it was a table, in which the only source of light, a waning candle, stood, lighting the soles of two, oversized feet.

"Ah! Welcome," the King greeted with open arms, his feet up on top the table as he laid back against his _throne _in complete amenity.

The King wore an ugly arrangement of armors that shared their hues of blue, brown, and green. His hair was unnaturally long, as well as braided, and the same goes for his beard, which splattered across his chin in an unorganized manner. War-paint streak across both of his arms with an awkward blue color, making lunatic designs that fit well with his behavior. He wore a tunic-like belt that wrapped itself around his waist, fit with sheathes for his countless number of weapons.

Valka approached to the opposite side of the table, refusing to reply, keeping herself silent, only able to persevere against her outrage.

"I see you're not delighted to see me..?" the man questioned lightly.

"Obviously," Valka answered immediately.

_Tsk-tsk, _the King clicked his tongue as he shook in disappointment, "Not a way to treat your _King._"

"Stop it with the attitude, Drago. We both know you're not even close to being fit for king, and I'm here for an _entirely _different reason."

The King gave a grim smile of satisfaction, dropping his feet against the floor, clasping his hands together, and leaned forward in great interest. He gave a deep sigh before offering his proposal.

"So, the decisions I'll be giving you are simple. You serve _under _me, lead my _army of dragons, _or you'll...die. You know the system."

Drago rested back against the chair again, having presented the options to his captive.

Valka scoffed in response, "You think our town would let you do this?"

"Stupid woman! I have an army far greater than my brothers' back at home," Drago scowled in disgust, "I thought you were smarter than that."

He looked around the tent for a brief moment before turning back to her with renewed interest.

"So, what is it?"

Valka kept silence, but the look on her face was unmistakeable.

Drago gave a deep chuckle, "I see you've already made up your mind."

The King suddenly stood up, shoving the chair back, and flapped the wings of his coat. He began making his way around the table as he informed his visitor of their departure.

"The ship departs at dawn. Make your good-byes and kisses-"

He paused as he stepped in front of Valka at a personal distance, and nonchalantly began wrapping his arms around her. His dark-tinted eyes bored through Valka's soul like the experience of death itself.

Dargo began striking his fingers down the woman's spine, gently caressing her torso.

"Get away from me you son of a bitch-" she muttered in dread, attempting to shove away her abuser.

Drago grasped tighter in response, locking her in an inescapable position and continued giving her his unwavering glare. He tilted his head forwards and put his mouth against her ear:

"Just wait 'til I've conquered the world, and I'll have your husband in chains. Maybe that ass of a brother, Alvin, too," he whispered, "And I'll behead all of them in front of your eyes."

His voice was soothing and eerie, but at the same time, frightening and terrifying. It was croaked but bellowed; it whispered but haunted.

Valka shivered at the image that the King had so _kindly _crafted for her, and shut her eyelids in an effort to ignore the maniac, but Drago continued.

"I also heard you have children-"

Valka darted her head back away from Drago's fear invoking voice and pulled a dagger out of her coat, hacking and thrashing at the bloodcurdling monster.

Drago blocked her sweep with ease, holding her wrists with a godlike grip, crushing her hand and forcing her weapon out of her reach. Then, he used his other hand and grabbed Valka by the throat, strangling her in the air; she desperately waved her feet uselessly, looking for something to step on.

The infamous zealot released Valka at her last stretch of air, who laid dazed on the ground after her clemency.

The King snickered as he bent over to pick up the dagger that Valka had miserably dropped in her unexpected submission.

"I won't do _shit _for you!" Valka managed to choke up, tending to her throat with shaking hands.

Drago advanced firmly, spinning the dagger in his hands with unmatched swordplay.

"What a shame," Drago replied subtly with an evil simper.

* * *

"Get out of my way!" Stoick demanded, navigating through his rough share of ignorant crowds who all gathered themselves around the dome-shaped arena, in front of the great stone-carved theater.

"What the hell is happening?" yelled another man, one of relatively same size and stature of the chief. The man also wore a majestic beard, of a different, dark brown color. He was more untidy, and his helmet had crooked horns striking out of its sides at an angle. He wore chipped, iron chains on top of his shirt, and draped it with an also-brown wool cape.

He shoveled a group of men around as he attempted to reach Stoick.

"Stoick! Answer me!"

"The King has called the town," Stoick shouted over the audience.

"I think I've figured that out!"

Stoick continued eying the stage, which was completely occupied by the King's men. The amount of heads in his way prevented him from maintaining eye contact with those wandering about before the gathering.

"Alvin! Get over here!" Stoick called out to his partner

"I- can't- fucking-" his accomplice cursed, "I can't see shit, Stoick!"

Stoick attempted standing on his toes, only able to maintain the immensity of his weight for a brief moment of time at the most.

A group of men suddenly appeared on-stage in perfect symmetry, lining up for what seemed to be a grand entrance.

"All hail the King!" one of the men announced, bowing his head in respect to the demon-looking figure.

"_Drago_," Stoick muttered under his breath.

Alvin gave the Chief a quick look of horror, and Stoick acknowledged it with a sad stare back.

The King walked about in front of the reluctant crowd, who were denying to cheer their mad leader onwards. Realizing his status, he gave a mean scoff.

"I've called you all today," he began, "for an example."

He rolled his arms openly and presented the crowd to his first trial. Two guards revealed themselves from the shade, dragging along with them in interlocking arms, a rather thin figure with familiar red-colored armor.

The bag was lifted from the prisoner's head, the sudden ruffling of the bag – Stoick's heart was immediately ripped apart. Kneeling before the audience was Valka; her face was bruised and bloody cuts streaked across her face. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to accept the shame that tainted her reputation.

The crowd released a sudden gasp, invoking a sense of need to rebel against their unholy ruler.

"She's been chosen for this purpose for reasons I clearly don't have to explain to you."

Stoick whirled his head around, looking for his only faithful friend.

_Gobber, where the hell are you? _he thought.

"Stoick!" Alvin mildly called.

"Get Gobber!"

Alvin nodded promptly before leaving the arena grounds to execute the Chief's orders.

"Wait here!" he promised.

But Stoick had already made up his mind, and began charging through the crowd like an unstoppable force, shoving aside the men of his town with brutal strength.

"Get the hell out of my way!" he bellowed.

His impetus was visible from above, as if he were parting an ocean with his bare hands.

Drago ignored Stoick's oncoming and ordered the executioner to perform his act.

"Make it quick," he added, retreating back behind his guard as he earnestly watched for the death of his prisoner.

Stoick pressed further inward, as far as to the King's men; however, they formed a bulwark, and threatened the angered crowd with their enormous axes, whereas the chief had nothing. The guards jailed Stoick from entering the stage, and he tried his best to part a way for entry.

The executioner unsheathed his double-faced ax, carved with markings of damnation. He spun it, twirled it in his hands, acquainting himself with his weapon of choice.

"Drago! You motherfuc-" Stoick cursed out hopelessly, cut down by the handle of an ax.

Stoick fell back, ministering to the vicious bleeding of his nose. He dabbed against his upper lip and revealed his blood-stained fingers.

A newer anger erupted inside the Chief, and he hastily got back onto his feet to oppose against the King's guard.

A punch to one of the escorts, and Stoick was immediately able to disarm his opponent, using his unmatched ax-wielding prowess to overcome the horde of defenders that approached to deal with the new threat.

The crowd was now in an uproar, bucking like an enraged mob.

Stoick was able to maintain his stance in the fight, and pressed forwards to gain the upper hand. A slice below the torso – a blunt to the head – a cut of the throat – a chopping of the neck all in a mere's second worth of fighting. For each strike he gave, he cried in enmity, in fury and indignation. Blood spilled everywhere, spraying on every bit of rock, painting every bit of armor and axes like an open canvas. The proficient fighter persevered amongst his enemies, gradually advancing his way upwards from the steps.

But the adept warrior was only able to handle so much.

The Chief was overwhelmed, unable to manage the amount of guards he was fighting, becoming oblivious to the presence of even some of them.

His eyes converged with a slight vision of his kneeling wife, as the ax made contact with Valka's skin, marking the designated spot in which the ax would sever free from the body, and traced its head as it rose up in the air, breaking him free from focus.

A sword pierced through the side of his thigh.

"Gah!" the Chief cried alarmingly as he fell onto his knees, silencing the noisy crowd and directing all attention to the fallen hero. The stolen ax he used clanged against the ground, and his hands tended to the severe wound.

The escort responsible for bringing down the adversary snickered at the groaning chief, circling around him like a bloodshot vulture. He delicately rose his ax in the air again and aimed to behead the rebel.

"Enough!" Drago commanded the both the executioner and the champion as his unsatisfied face gradually put on a devilish grin. "Bring him up here," he said, gesturing with one hand to drag him forward.

Two men grabbed Stoick by the arms and dragged him up the stairs and in front of the King, putting him down on his knees, leaving behind a nasty trail of blood in the process.

Drago approached Stoick, signaling his men to free the Chief, and kneeled down on one leg and encountered him face to face.

"Can you still fight?" he whispered.

A spit of blood into the King's face, and a steady, but quivering, response, "Hell, I'd beat you any day."

Drago lazily rid his face of the viscous mix of blood and saliva the Chief tainted him with, and chuckled gleefully, forcefully turning away as he does so. "Oh, you...I like you."

"Just wait 'till I scorch your beloved Isle to ashes and stones. But first, I will bring down the House of Haddock - one by one, starting with her!" He pointed towards Valka without even looking her way.

"Oh, why did Mother give birth to you?" Stoick cursed, "Burn your own house down for the gods' sake!"

"Father exiled me, remember?" Drago inquired lightly, "Now I can't thank him enough, because look where he brought me! I was _destined _to do this, Stoick. I'm _King _of the Vikings."

Stoick looked up from his shameful stare at the ground, and say the faces of both Alvin and Gobber amongst the crowd, frowning with unmitigated horror, then turned back to face psycho.

"Drago-" Stoick sounded fearfully.

The King abruptly got up, before Stoick could say anything in reply, and ripped the executioner's ax our of its owner's hands.

"And because I'm King, you can't stop me," he continued.

"No-" Stoick wept.

Drago turned to Valka, who remained silent the entire time. "Got anything to say?" he chortled profoundly.

"No-" Stoick repeated.

Valka, however, hid a devilish smile with the downwards angle of her face. Stoick noticed a slight glimpse of it, and his head became engulfed in confusion. The discolored woman whispered, loud enough for the King to hear:

"All hail the King."

She shut her eyes as the humongous ax began to drop.

"No-!" Stoick cried emptily.

_ROAR!_

The unexpected noise shook the entire ring, and a colossal shadow draped across the entire crowd like an dilated curtain, which fell into a bewildered stillness.

_Eret, _Stoick thought hopefully.

A flap of wings, a blinding wall of fog stirred by enormous sets of appendages.

An ear-impairing explosion centered at the middle of the stage shuttered the entirety of the island, and where once was Drago was now part of him - his left arm flew across the stage ground and landed next to Stoick.

Fires were set ablaze across the crowd; men and women screamed in agony as they were being burnt to a crisp. People's limbs laid in pieces mere steps away where they stood.

Stoick was too stunned, too blinded and dazed to grasp hold of the situation. He attempted clumsily to get onto his feet, but the wound and the state of his balance refused him from doing so.

"Get up!" Stoick was only able to make up for a familiar figure, one with facial hair all too recognizable, "The dragons! They're back!"

"Gobber..." Stoick groaned, "Where's Valka, is she...is she-?"

The half-man, half-machine took a pause as he formed a reply.

"She- she disappeared, Stoick," he answered disappointingly.

_Then she's safe, _Stoick mentally assured himself.

Stoick simpered lightly as he saw the remainder of the King's men picking up the heavy carcass of the dying lunatic and nimbly began transporting it back to the King's fleet.

"All hail the King," he murmured vengefully, "You son of a bitch."

* * *

A scrawny, dark-haired boy, dressed in a faded-green tunic and thin, fur vest, lay rest against the cool, fine rocks of a rarely visited cove. The breeze swept through the trees sweetly, the distant splashing of a nearby waterfall, and the rustling of leaves played a melodic tempo to the purring of his dearest dragon friend.

_What's that? _the black-scaled dragon nudged the shoulders of the curious boy, referring to a golden necklace he was holding in his hands.

"It was my Mother's, apparently," the boy replied, "My dad just handed it to me, a little gift to celebrate my success in the arena."

He continued trawling the necklace and laced it around his fingers playfully, rubbing his thumb against the surface of the dragon imprint on the piece of jewelry.

_I'm bored, _the dragon groaned, disrupting the boy's interest in his father's present to him.

"Sorry, bud. It's almost sundown," the boy excused, who proceeded to rubbing the top of the dragon's curving, round head gently, "Maybe tomorrow."

* * *

**AN: Now that's out of my mind; I was able to put this together in one night - jeez, I don't have a life. I had fun building upon this idea; it really expands the horizon of the first How to Train Your Dragon movie to more than just dragons. Perhaps a story in which the king takes revenge by forming his own army of dragons, using an oblivious, manipulated Hiccup to do it? I don't know, sounds great to me! ;) So, what did you think? Was it confusing? Good, it should be. You can always ask me questions; I'll be happy to answer them. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading this! Give me suggestions on what to write next if you'd like. **


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